A young girl’s obsession

Like many people, my husband Patrick has become obsessed with the Western show “Yellowstone” and its spin-offs, 1883 and 1923.

I hadn’t gotten into the show for a few reasons. First, I prefer reading or playing my Zelda game on the Nintendo Switch to watching television. The second is I’m not the best with violent movies or TV shows. Interestingly enough, I can devour books about assassins and war, but when it comes to watching it, I’m not so comfortable.

For a long time, Patrick was OK with me not watching it because he also figured it would be too violent for me. But recently, he’s pressured me to give it a try.

For those unfamiliar with the show, it’s a Western drama about a massive horse ranch and the things the family is willing to do to keep the ranch and their way of living.

While I do have to look away from time to time, so far the show is pretty good. It reminds me of my childhood when I was obsessed with horses.

I didn’t just like horses, everything revolved around them. My favorite American Girl Doll was the one with a horse. I read and watched all of “The Saddle Club.” Someone got me a pocket-sized book filled with horse facts and breeds. I had that thing memorized so fast.

But I had never even rode on a horse. Where I’m from, it’s all cows.

There are some moments in your life that are scorched into your brain forever. The first time I got on a horse is like that for me.

My grandparents planned it for me. One of their neighbors had horses, and they arranged for her to take me on a trail ride. The driveway at my grandparents’ farm is a half mile, and during the late summer, you can’t see very far because the corn blocks the view.

I stood outside the house watching down the driveway for what felt like hours until two horses came walking into view. I think I remember the waiting more than the ride itself, but it’s still a memory I cherish.

As I grew, I never lost my love of horses, but I dropped the obsession. When I began to date Patrick, I found out his family not only had a few horses, but both his parents worked in the horse industry.

My father-in-law is a farrier; he takes care of the horse’s feet. One of the best in Wisconsin, he teaches at the veterinarian school at the University of Wisconsin. My husband’s first job was helping his dad as he traveled from farm to farm.

My mother-in-law spent some winters in Kentucky as a night watch. The barns would be full of very pregnant horses waiting to have their foals. Her job was to make the rounds, alert the proper people and assist if a mare began foaling.

We came to visit her a few times while she was down there. One time we kept our phones on loud and she called us from the barn in the middle of the night to watch the mare have her baby. It was a special moment to witness.

I had the opportunity to talk with Jamie and Bruce Travis as well as Wayne Hanson for an upcoming horse-related story, and it always seems to bring me back to that little girl with the pocket-sized horse book.

Jamie told me everyone in their family has their own horse. I would have loved that. I always imagined what my horse would look like, what I would name it. When I was a kid, the palomino was my favorite. Now, I’m a sucker for a good chestnut.

My in-laws like to bet on horse racing. They know the trainers and jockeys and where the horse came from. They look at the odds and the lineage and place their bets.

I look at the name and the color. I never pick a bay to win — too basic.

I remember when American Pharaoh won the Triple Crown, a title awarded to horses that win the Preakness Stakes, the Belmont Derby and the Kentucky Derby. We were all sitting in the living room waiting for the Belmont Stakes to begin. He just needed to win that race to take the Triple Crown title.

As they all yelled and cheered for him to outpace the second-place horse, I was cheering against them. While the finish of that race was historic, I’ll only remember that my horse, Frosted, got second place.

I’m not sure I’ll ever own my own horse, but I know they’ll always own a piece of me.